


The Dreams After

by GoldieRebecca



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Love, Magic, Marriage, Miscarriage, Monsters, Multi, Quests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldieRebecca/pseuds/GoldieRebecca
Summary: A few years after the war, Rhysand and Feyre grieve a miscarriage as they deal with Illyrian pushback on new fighting techniques and political disputes. Mor meets a cute barista, Lucien is away which gives Azriel and Elain time to grow closer. Cassian and Nesta have a secret, and the Summer Court is in upheaval, keeping Varian far away from Amren.
Relationships: Amren/Varian (ACoTaR), Elain Archeron & Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Rhys dipped his head down and kissed me. But I was still crying. 

It had been a busy day. I woke up early and went to the studio, empty and echoing since the sun hadn’t yet risen. I painted harshly. I slashed the canvas with deep purples and rich blues, and finished with a red streak through it all. Once the sun had come up, I had things to do. But I couldn’t bring my mind and passion into anything. I instructed the young artists, cleaned up stations, squeezed out fresh paint.

And still, I was empty.

It had been a week since we lost the baby. My mental state was faltering. While it didn’t affect my consistency of painting, the topic of my paintings had taken a turn. No landscapes and laughter and hope of the future. I would channel my confusion and hurt and anger and create blurs of emotions, pits that would reflect what was going on inside. 

After a few days in, Rhys suggested we both go back to normal lives. Routine would help familiarize our sadness. The first day was heavy. My limbs, my mind, my tongue. I had to drag up words from the back of my throat, each one feeling wrong and thick leaving my mouth. 

And now, as I sat on the edge of our massive bed, Rhys standing before me, I could only cry. 

“Have you eaten today?” He asked softly, his hand on the side of my face. I leaned into the warmth of his palm. 

I nodded. I’d had a bite of an apple for breakfast, and a piece of toast grabbed from the kitchen on my way upstairs an hour ago. Rhys tilted his head and raised his brows, waiting. I shook my head, sniffling. 

Immediately a bowl of hot soup and french bread appeared on the bed side table. The smell was heavenly, but I couldn’t fully enjoy it. Like I couldn’t fully feel anything the past week. Despite this fact, my stomach grumbled. 

Rhys got the soup and sat on the bed next to me. “I ate an hour ago with Azriel. I’ll start the bath, and add your favorite vanilla bubbles.” He smirked slightly and bumped me with his shoulder. I gave him a tight smile in return.

“Try to eat, my darling. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.” I wiped away at my face, nodding. Rhys gave me a last kiss on the forehead before heading for the bathing chamber, where the faucet cranked on a few moments later. 

I sighed, pushing my hair back from my face, and fell back onto the mattress. Looking up at the ceiling, my mind immediately began to fill. I closed my eyes tight. 

I had been in this darkness before. Not this specific evil, but a variety of it, sure. I had walked with it, grown accustomed to its nauseating sadness that reeled inside me. But I had also overcome it. I grasped and fought and found my own way out. With help from my friends, my Rhys, my paintings. 

I was starting from scratch, with a whole new monster. And every day I felt like I was losing. 

I glanced at the soup Rhys had placed back onto the table a few feet away, and scooted towards it, sitting criss cross on the bed. I was hungry. I just felt like nothing would satisfy the hunger. But I needed to work my way out of this. Just like before. 

I felt a little tug from Rhys down the bond. Teasing.  
I sat on the bed until I finished the entire bowl. Only crumbs from the bread remained. 

Another tug on the bond. I’m coming you impatient bastard, I sent back. I heard a laugh from the bathroom as I walked towards the door. 

The main light was out, but when I cracked the door to peek in, a soft yellow glow spilled into the bedroom. Dozens of candles lit the room, casting mellow shadows throughout. Rhys sat in the tub, bubbles nearly overflowing. He waved at me to come further in. I bit my lip, smiling. I got to the edge of the grand tub, “Vanilla.” 

“Vanilla.” he replied, eyeing me knowingly. His eyes were positively dreamy in the candle light, a deep, swirling purple. I never got tired of his face, of that beauty that was so naturally paired with his kind heart. I had a flitting thought of the eyes the Bone Carver had donned, but let it pass as quickly as it came. 

I dropped my robe and sank into the warmth and bubbles, leaning my back against Rhys’ torso. I hadn’t taken a proper, long bath in weeks, hadn’t had the time to sit and not think. Hadn’t had the luxury of an empty mind. 

“Was the soup good, then?” 

“I need Elain to teach me the recipe. Thank you for sending some up.” 

He hummed a slight response.“And the studio?”

“The children are fast learners.” My throat felt heavy but I swallowed hard. “Sharp minds. And creative,” I added. 

Rhys paused before saying, “It’s only been a week, Feyre. We don’t have to be okay right now.”

“I feel that darkness again,” I pulled my knees up to my chest. “I’m afraid I’ll drown in it.”

Rhys stayed silent, only the candles flickered. Minutes passed. “I have to find my way out again.” I turned to look at him. “But I know this time, I have help. Real experience in this kind of deep sadness, and proof that I can turn it around.” 

After a few more moments, when he was sure I had gotten it out, he responded, “Me too. We can help each other.” A soft shimmer was sent through the bond. “As much work goes into healing ourselves, we can’t forget the importance and help that comes with friends, and good food, and sunshine. Wine…. fighting, flying, painting,” he gestured towards me at that, “walking around the market. Talking to our people.” He shrugged. “We do need to heal individually, but togetherness is a huge help. And we have so much support.”

I nodded slowly. “And not to mention bubble baths.”

“Bubble baths really heal the soul,” Rhys replied. 

I faced forward again, looking into the twinkling stars that amassed the high window in front of us.

Incrementally, insanely slow, it was getting better. I was getting better. And when I leaned back into Rhys, and sunk lower into the warmth of the water, I felt that first glimmer of hope in my bones.

————————

I sat with Mor inside the little cafe, jazz music filling the cozy area. My tea cup warmed my hands as the brisk autumn air breezed in through the cracked windows. This was one of my favorite Velaris spots, far enough away from the Sidra that it wasn’t always busy, but still thrumming slightly with the city feel.

My blonde companion glumly watched me sip on my tea. “Where is my latte? I need caffeine. Do you think they forgot my order?” She strained her neck to look towards the counter. 

“We only ordered a few minutes ago,” I huffed a laugh at her worrying glances she continued to throw over her shoulder.

She gave up, slumping back in her seat. “I’m exhausted. I was up all night arguing with Cassian about Devlon, the old grump. He’s getting testy about the new techniques Rhys continues to insist on.” 

Courtesy of Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, our inner circle was taught a few new lessons from Helion’s own fighting legion. Overall, his moves were smoother, more efficient, less aggressive but a tidier job. Cassian didn’t exactly appreciate it, but Rhys found it very interesting, and decided to implement the new fighting skills into our Illyrians forces. They appreciated it even less than Cassian had.

“I nearly took Rhys’ arm off twice in lessons, these new skills will be helpful. They’ve trained on those mountains for so long they forgot that there are new things to learn elsewhere,” I sipped my tea again and Mor’s face changed from thoughtful to annoyed and she stood up and made her way to the counter.

As Mor accosted the barista, a pretty High fae with her delicate eyebrows shooting up at my friends’ questioning, I swirled my tea around the little white cup. I was still sore from the new training, my knuckles slightly red and tender atop the calluses from pummeling the pads and practice dummies. 

I looked out the cracked window, citizens strolling the streets arm in arm, smiling, happy. The war was years ago, but if you looked closely enough, you could still see the scars it left on the city and its people. A crack in a sidewalk there —filled with a marble pour, not completely covering the history but honoring the memory—, a cracked window the owner never got around to fixing, a few piles of debris in forgotten alley ways. 

Lost in thought, I didn’t realize Mor was on her way back to the table (latte in hand) until she plopped down loudly in the seat beside me. “So I know this was a coffee date but I might actually have a real date, and she gets off in a few minutes. Would you mind?” She angled her head and gave me a fake-pleading smile. I told her I wouldn’t, and I was about to walk the Sidra anyways. She promised a do-over soon and I grabbed my pack that was stuffed with random art supplies, loose papers, and a nearly-rotting apple before heading out the door. When I walked past the window, I saw the dark haired barista smile nervously towards Mor, and my heart filled for my friend. 

————————

The Sidra was beautiful during autumn. The thick evening sunlight bounced from its surface as I walked over the bridge and stopped at the peak. I leaned over and sighed. 

Busy? I sent down the bond tentatively. 

While it was my day off, Rhysand had a schedule full of meetings. I almost didn’t like my days with no work, nothing to keep my mind distracted and my hands going. 

A meeting. Apparently there’s a beautiful woman that keeps loitering on the Northern Bridge. We’re not sure what to do about the issue. Rhys sent back a few moments later.

I smiled to myself. Maybe she’s bored. 

She should try the library. Third floor down, Isle 32, second shelf from the bottom. There’s a nearly ruined book chock full of adventure and heartbreak. 

I made my way to the library. 

———————————————————————-

After settling down into a particularly cozy leather armchair, four hours passed until I set the book down. My head was still swimming with the characters and the lives I’d been invested in.

The sun was just now beginning to droop towards the horizon, and the golden light spilled into the window nearby. 

Peaceful, I decided. This was peaceful.

But then, I heard the heavy footfalls and sighed.

“We’re needed at the camp. Talks of dishonor and breaking tradition are spreading and we need to clip it here before it grows into something else.” I rose from my seat at this.

Cassian stood in his full Illyrian gear, face serious, siphons glinting slightly. “Rhysand is meeting us there.”

Without trying to sound like it was the last thing on earth I felt like doing, said, “Not just you and Azriel are needed to squash this?” 

“That’s what I said, but Rhys said he wants to make a point. And with both of you there, I’m sure it will.”

Cassian flew with me back to the town house for a quick change, where I was made aware that Rhys would be in his usual black suit, I opted for class and comfort as well. Instead of armor and leather, I dressed warm and in neutral tones. My black boots were the only hardness of my look. Because I would make sure my words were what struck home.

I offered to fly Cassian so he could save his strength for whoever he would ultimately end up fighting with, and he rolled his eyes before shooting into the sky. 

——————————————

We met at the townhouse. Cassian and I were the last to arrive. Winter was still melting into spring, and the chill atop the mountains had me hugging my coat tighter around me. 

Illyrians were sparring a good distance away, and the clang of their weapons and grunts of pain drifted over to us on the cold wind. 

Walking towards the rows of homes along the drop off, I saw Rhys, leaning back against the table set in front of the window. He was explaining something to Mor with his hands painting an elaborate picture. My chest tightened when I saw him chuckle at something Mor had replied. I walked faster.

The room was warmed with the fire crackling loudly in the den. I went straight to Rhys and gave him a long hug. Amren murmured something I didn’t care to hear. 

I pulled away and it was Azriel who cleared his throat. I hadn’t even seen him when I first walked in. “Devlon and the others are gathered and waiting. What’s the plan?” He looked towards Rhys and I. 

Rhys sighed. “Threaten them enough so the point gets across. The usual. Maybe see if we can figure out who’s spouting all this gossip to begin with, and take it from there.” Rhys looked down at me and I nodded back to him. 

We set off into the camp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhysand get an invitation.

Nesta Archeron cranked on the sink, water pouring out quickly and steaming up the mirror soon after as she splashed her face and neck. Her nightmare was more of a creepy dream rather than actual terror. She was walking through a dark forest by herself, down some forgotten path, nothing out of place, the silence actually comforting, until someone whispered her name. 

The closer she got to the sound the farther away from the path she strayed. She awoke only when she took a step off an unforeseen cliff, the whisper carried on a wind that tumbled through the air as she fell, all around her at once. She awoke before she hit the ground, slick with sweat and annoyed that she could never quite catch up to the whisper. When she walked sleepily back into her room, she glanced at her little gold watch on her dresser, cursing and yanking on a pair of tan corduroy pants that had lie crumpled in her desk chair. 

Shit. Elain’s probably already started, she thought, throwing on a white long sleeve and grabbing her coat on her way out. She walked quickly through the sloping streets, other Velaris citizens smiling politely at her as she passed. Nesta quite enjoyed the autumn season, enough chill in the air that a walk like this wasn’t suffocating (even at nearly noon), but clear skies that allowed paths of sunshine to still cut their way onto the cobblestone streets between shops. 

Elain still resided with Feyre and Rhysand. Although they all would visit the old Townhouse and dine at the House of Wind, their new estate was now nearing the same level of comfortable familiarity as the others. Her sister would bake and garden and knit her days away in this house. Nesta wondered how she could stand to be around Rhys and Feyre’s incessant touching and flirting, but thought that Azriel probably provided enough distraction. 

Elain had always enjoyed being so close to family, she had insisted on the room closest to her parents growing up, with Nesta and Feyre’s rooms as close as she could convince them to be. Nesta had offered her a room at her own apartment near the Sidra, but she couldn’t offer up the near constant company of the others or the grand garden that sat slowly dying in the courtyard as the cold winter crept in day by day. So the baking and knitting and whispering with Azriel had only increased, although the garden was still quite lovely in its current state.

“You’re late. Again,” Elain stood in front of the stove, not even looking over her shoulder as she continued stirring a pot of something that smelled rich and almost sickly sweet. Nesta spotted Cerridwen and Nuala, both rolling out dough, puffs of flour shooting up from the countertop they worked upon. 

Nesta had chosen not to mention her whispering dreams to others, not even Elain. Although she wondered if Elain saw anything in her future that could correlate. Or if it was just her rotten past melting her brain in her sleep. Most likely the latter. “What’re we making today?” Nesta asked, trying to sound excited. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to cook, its that she simply wasn’t good at it. Which was another thing she refused to admit. 

“Cerridwen, Nuala, and I are nearly done making the peach cobbler. You can chop the onions if you’d like.”

Nesta huffed, “Elain, I’m sorry. I got back home late last night and accidentally overslept but I didn’t forget about today, okay? I’ve been looking forward to it.” That wasn’t entirely a lie, she really hadn’t forgotten about their plans, but she knew she chose to stay out until 3 am, and also knew she was a deep sleeper. 

Elain finally stopped stirring and turned her head, raising her brows in faux annoyance but admitting surrender with one look at her sister, waving Nesta in for a hug anyways. After they pulled apart, “Well I’m glad you’ve decided to come. I’m cooking this meal specifically for Feyre, it used to be her favorite and she hasn’t been herself lately.”

Nesta, and everyone else in the inner circle, was aware of why. But no one felt comfortable using the exact words just yet. She only nodded peering into the bubbling pot of what looked to be peaches, avoiding Elain’s eye.

“So what can I do to help then?”

“We really do need chopped onions, actually,” Elain shot her a guilty look and Nesta tied a light blue apron around her waist, rolled up her sleeves, and chopped away at a big pile of smelly, eye-stinging onions. 

———

The Illyrian generals stood unnervingly still, hands behind their backs but bodies positioned strategically. The chilly, crisp autumn air seemed to be sliced by the mountains around us. 

Rhysand broke the silence first, not speaking to anyone in particular, “Lovely day, is it not?”

Devlon was already rolling his eyes. Rhysand looked to him when he didn’t reply, “Not lovely enough to drag us all up here for the sheer pleasantries of nature, though.” 

I swept a look across the group, thinking Helion might be among them, but there was only Devlon and two lesser generals flanking him that carried matching hardened stares while still maintaining their battle-ready positions. They were generic Illyrians, bland and nameless— not providing nearly enough intimidation as intended. 

Rhysand continued when the silence lasted a beat too long once again, skipping to the meat of the issue, “I’m aware there have been some objections to the Day Court’s new fighting techniques they’ve graciously shared. And I can’t imagine why new and improved information and skill would offend anyone.” Another pointed look at Devlon, whose jaw was tightly clenched. 

“There have been a few brawls, some high tempers at the orders coming from the… others. Nothing that isn’t under my control, however,” Devlon responded, sounding disconnected from the conversation. 

“Let alone the fights,” I said, taking a slight step forward, irritated at his belittling of the issue. “Who’s the one spouting the poison and lies regarding our partnership with the Day Court? We’re building on what has already been created and practiced. Not trying to uproot the past.” 

This time, one of the generals to Devlon’s left responded. He had the dark hair and eyes to match, his Illyrian gear nothing short of what it has always been for the entirety of their lineage - the deepest black fabric with metal covering the vital organs, his wings tucked in tight behind him. “The Illyrians have fought and won for thousands of years using the techniques we have perfected and honed to match with our specific abilities. To toss in new ideas assuming they could fit in seamlessly is nonsensical.” Well, he was more eloquent that Devlon, I’ll give him that. 

Mor let out a sigh. This is probably where she had argued in circles with Cassian. Rhys and I had pushed for this to happen and wanted to see it through. Although I got a sense that Cassian and Azriel might not be entirely on our side for this one, regardless of where they were standing now. They both remained silent. 

“We value and honor the Illyrian traditions that we’ve seen executed, when necessary, throughout Prythian’s existence,” Rhysand began, “but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything else we can learn. I myself sparred with my Mate using Helion’s advice and can confidently say it’s skills worth learning. I’d rather our warriors have those skills in their arsenal rather than ignore them in arrogance and suffer in the future. Feyre nearly separated me from my limbs.” I felt a shot of pride down the bond and Rhys smirked at the memory. “But it’s not my job to convince you to do it,” his voice getting serious again, although he now continued on in a tone as if explaining something simple to a child, “It’s my job to decide if a path is the right one to take, and communicate it. Your job is to listen and implement. If that's too difficult a task for you, maybe we can find you a different job title.” 

If that slight sting affected Devlon's ego, he didn’t show it. The grinding of his teeth had stopped and now he just stared at Rhys, then at Mor, then to me, ignoring Amren, Cassian, and Azriel all together. And although Amren had, until now, stood quietly and patiently, playing her role as an intricate part of our inner circle, I felt her tense at the subtle dismissal. That will be a fun Amren to dine with tonight. 

“You’re arrogant fools if you think there aren't beings out there with better training, stronger soldiers, and quicker minds than what you have fermenting on the top of these mountains for the past millennia. Continue to act as such, and you will only continue to fall behind,” Amren said decidedly, only her short hair swaying softly in the breeze. She fell back into silence having shared her piece. 

Dusk had nearly fallen, and the cold wind was picking up slightly. Devlon straightened, “I’ll keep my men in check. And as for the loud mouth,” he looked back to me, “I cannot say who would do you all or our partners in the Day Court the dishonor. If I find them, I’ll be sure to let you know.” His words had just enough sarcasm that made me want to show him a few of my new learned skills, in front of his inferiors and on top of this desolate mountain top he called home. 

“If?” I questioned. “If you find him? We won't be returning to have the same conversation in the future, Devlon,” I replied, my voice steady, my words solid and smooth. “Fix this. It’s your responsibility. Take control of your men and their inappropriate behavior now or we will, however we see fit to do so.” 

“And with that, we will wrap up our lovely meeting,” Rhysand said, smiling. “You have three days to turn this attitude problem around. No more questioning, no more murmurs of broken tradition. Until then,” he inclined his head to the Illyrian group ahead of us, and we all winnowed back to the House of Wind, just as planned. 

——————

I hadn’t done much at all today, but my limbs were dragging and my thoughts were scattered once we all were settled down for dinner. It was still early, but everyone had been complaining of absolute starvation. Mor took the liberty of pouring me a generous glass of wine, placing it in my hand rather than on the table in front of me. 

The food was there when we’d arrived, still steaming and fresh, from whatever tendril of power Rhysand had sent out to make it so. 

Azriel and Cassian had flown down to our estate earlier to pick up Elain and Nesta, who would no doubt try to convince them that we should all just eat there instead. And although I wouldn’t have minded being on solid ground tonight, Rhys had said he preferred the slightly more formal gathering space for tonight's dinner. Business might find its way into the night’s conversation. 

“There are times I think of simply ending his life,” Amren said as she sat into her seat across from me, her short black hair swaying, still tense from Devlon’s dismissal at the meeting. “I would enjoy seeing him flattened on a sidewalk.” 

“He does bear great resemblance to a dung beetle,” Rhysand mused. He draped his arm around the back of my chair casually, giving my shoulder a squeeze. His normal dark attire always seemed to blend with the darkness that was surrounding him, although his eyes nearly glowed in the dim dinner lighting. 

“To killing every bug we ever see,” Mor toasted, raising her sparkling wine toward the center of the table, where a tinkling of glasses met with hers. Mor drank back the glass in one gulp and began pouring another. 

“Slow down, leave some for the rest of us!” Cassian stomped in, followed by Azriel, and snatched the bottle from Mor who rolled her eyes and turned to Amren to whisper about Cassian’s tiny tiny something. 

“This bottle is imported from the Summer Court.” Cassian turned the bottle in his hand, inspecting all sides. “Seems to be courtesy of Amren’s puppy love. Where is dear Varian tonight?” 

“Otherwise occupied.” Amren replied, eyeing him over her empty plate as he tore into a turkey leg. 

“Ah, another woman then? Pitiful.” Amren only hissed in dismissal. Varian hadn’t come around much lately, politics at the Summer Court were in a complete upheaval, and Tarquin needed him at his side constantly. 

“Keep teasing, Cassian, Amren will just have to kick your ass again.” Mor quipped, cutting her meat into dainty bites before popping them in her mouth with her hand.

He snorted, and replied, “How so? With Helion’s new techniques? Please.” I could feel the annoyance roll off Rhys at his words, although he remained quiet. A beat of the rarest silence, and then - “You’re a fortress of secrets tonight, Feyre.”

“And you’ve barely taken a breath between turkey and your berating.” 

Cassian gave her a grin, shrugging. “Without your sisters here to fill the silence, the duty falls to me.” 

Oh. I had forgotten about them completely. Why hadn’t they come? Just as I was about to ask what the hell Cassian said to piss off Nesta once again, Azriel cut in. 

“They weren’t done cooking, and didn’t want to spoil the surprise.” As much as I love Elain’s cooking, and politely tolerated Nesta’s, my appetite hasn’t been what it used to. Flavors weren’t exciting, and the gnawing in my stomach seemed to remain regardless. I felt Rhysand’s gaze on my plate then. I had made little circles of the green beans, mash potatoes, and fat slices of turkey drenched in gravy, pushing them around with my fork into different patterns. 

Not hungry? He questioned down the bond. 

I swallowed. Just tired. I sent back. And it was true. I was tired to the bone, but felt like if I laid my head on a pillow, sleep would not come. 

He squeezed my shoulder again as I picked up my glass to sip from the fruity wine. But just before it could hit my lips … the smell. 

Cherry. Cherry wine. 

I sucked in a breath, a trembling hand placing the glass back down carefully. I stood, perhaps a bit too quickly as my chair rocked, murmured something about fresh air and hurried out of the dining room. 

Away, away, away. I just had to separate myself from the smell. 

Cherries. That sickly sweet red wine lit a memory that I had worked so hard on dulling. I passed through the sheer curtain separating the bit of rock outcropping the mountain, the smell seeming to carry with me, wafting past and intertwining with my every thought. 

It was cherries that day. The day I found out. I helped Elain pick them from the garden, and she had baked a cherry pie in celebration. I lowered my hand to my abdomen, leaning the other on the railing. 

We all ate and laughed and danced that night. Such happiness and comfort. It was naive. Naive to assume the best. Perhaps if I was more prepared, went to the Healer earlier, maybe then- 

I hardly heard his steps before he spoke from behind me .“Feyre.” My eyes began to water. “My darling.” My lower lip wobbled, and I bit it as I turned to face him. 

“There was cherry wine in that glass,” I said quietly, holding his stare. I shook my head then, as if I could shake off the thoughts. “I’m sorry I stormed out. We - we can go back.”

“Do you want to go back?”

No, I thought, but didn’t send it down the bond. No, if the cherry memory was in my mind, I was entirely locked down and guarded. But I didn’t want to stare at my plate of food, or hear the endless bickering, or defend my silence. 

Or sip on cherry wine. 

I felt that sadness starting in my chest and echoing out. “I need to go home,” I said, barely above a whisper. Rhysand took the last few steps toward me, then held me against his chest. Wind and empty space whipped around us for a moment and when he let me go, we were on the front porch of our charming Velaris estate, in all it’s beauty and grace. 

Through the large front windows, I saw Elain and Nesta talking in the kitchen. Nesta sat on the counter top, a spoon dangling from her hand and her feet swinging out in front of her. She took a lick of the batter, then pointed the spoon at Elain, teasingly accusing her of something or another. And deeper within the house, I knew a fully furnished nursery lay, unused and untouched. Unneeded. 

“Armchair and tea, or a walk?” Rhysand asked casually.

I didn’t actually want to go inside. And Rhysand knew as much, which was why he had winnowed us just to the porch. To be in that bright kitchen, my sister’s glancing at me with pity and trying and trying to talk around the subject. I didn’t have the energy to deflect it. 

Rhysand saw the resolve in my eyes, and simply turned toward the steps facing the cobblestone street and offered his arm. 

The breeze was a bit chilly, and I pulled my coat closed. The little lamp posts along the street glowed cheerily, and Rhysand’s arm was warm around my own. I gave him a sidelong glance. 

With all of my own issues, I hadn’t paid enough attention to my Mate. Under his eyes was slightly smudged darker. The only inclination that he’s on the edge as much as I am. My heart ached deep in my chest at the sight. He had spent so much time lately taking care of me, maybe I didn’t notice how far under he was as well. 

“Do you remember,” he started, looking out and above the mountains that we strolled toward, the tiny windows slightly lit with the dinner still in progress, “when you and Lucien made the trek through the Winter Court?” 

The endless frozen winds and exhaustion in my legs snapped back to my mind. The last few days I spent separated from my Court, from my Mate. “I remember freezing my ass off.” 

He chuckled breathily. “Azriel and Cassian came to help, right at the very end. After days of the brutal cold, and enduring Lucien’s terribly boring conversations,” I gave him a little shove at that, “they came. And they would do it again, a million times over. And so would I. Feyre,” he stopped to look at me then. “This… isn’t like that. This isn’t a cold hike with a definite end just over the next peak. Cassian and Azriel can’t help fight off memories and confusion and pain. But you can. It can start small, but you can build on it more and more everyday.”

I sighed, shaking my head. It felt like too much too often. Just as I thought I would pass it, something as small and seemingly insignificant as cherry wine slipped in and I fell for it every time. 

“It isn’t your fault, and you know that. There was nothing to be done,” he said the second half so softly that it was only audible because of the grit in his voice. 

“What if it can never happen for us,” I breathed. We had stopped walking and stood just outside of the circle of light from the nearby lamp post, some shops around us closing up for the night, others just now opening their doors. It’s been years, and I thought the war was the darkest part of my life. Thought that no matter what I had to face afterwards, at least I would have Rhysand beside me. And that I couldn’t ask for more than that. 

“What if it's just supposed to be us and nothing else?”

“No one is more full of loving kindness and wisdom to share than you,” he grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers and putting them both against his chest. “A child is a blessing that at one point in my life, I never thought I would receive, didn’t think I was deserving. But this,” he squeezed my hand every so slightly, “is here, now. And was just as far out of my grasp years ago as I thought a child was.” Tears filled his eyes, but did not fall. Despite them, his face was determined. “We can keep dreaming, Feyre. Even if some are shattered, or seem illogical or impossible, we can piece them back together.” 

As close as I had been to starving on the other side of the wall, to freezing to death, to wasting away at the Spring Court, I had still found room afterwards to dream. To hope. To wish for something more. “The loss… there’s constant reminders. Everywhere I look.”

“We have to know that the future is there, waiting for us to look up,” he said softly.

But I didn’t know if I could. 

The small night cafe behind us rolled back curtains from a stage, it lay past a cluster of fae occupying the various tables scattered throughout the outside courtyard. Some had cups of coffee, others wine and cheese. Music, soft and heavy, floated over to us. 

“Lonely lovers, there together, can’t someone see…” The high-fae woman in a tight, blood-red dress swayed, holding to the microphone stand like it was the only thing anchoring her.

I turned and pressed my back to Rhys chest, his arms wrapped over the front of me. We listened as the melancholy lyrics saturated the night air, drowning the audience in its melody. 

Rhys leaned over, close to my ear, “The goodness is still there, choose to look for it.” 

We spent the next hour standing there, in our own little patch of Velaris, soaking in the words and forgetting everything else, if only for a little while.

\- 

When we returned to the estate late into the night, there was a letter waiting on the dining room table. Propped up against a small box, the cream colored envelope had elegant script across the front that read 

“To the High Lady of the Nightcourt and Rhysand.”

“I think it's for you,” Rhysand said, reaching over to pick it up. He handed it to me, picking up the tiny velvet wrapped box to inspect. 

The orange seal, the same color as the little box, had a Sun with the letter H through the very middle. I ripped open the top, Rhysand making a comment about how unused and expensive our letter opener is. I stuck my tongue out at him, and sat down at the table, unfolding the short letter to read aloud. 

“To my dearest and truest friend, High Lady, Feyre Archeron, 

It would be my honor to host a visit to my Court for you and your Mate, and perhaps a few of your Night Court Illyrian men and a certain blonde battle strategist. Amren is invited as well, of course, although she often scares many in my court. This is simply a request for a few days of fun and bathing in sunlight, no silly politics need be mentioned. This weekend is preferred, but respond at your leisure. 

Warmest regards,

Helion” 

“Well that was subtle,” Rhysand said, leaning on the back of the chair next to me. “Should I worry, then?” 

I rolled my eyes but laughed. Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, was always a flirt, especially if it pissed off someone else. Rhysand was used to it, and never took it too seriously. If you don’t count the one time when Helion caught Rhys in a bad mood, made the wrong comment, and found himself pressed under a solid block of darkness. That dinner ended very abruptly. 

Hopefully this weekend of “fun” wouldn’t involve another over dramatic scene like that. 

“We could go this weekend, you know,” Rhys suggested. “I know it's short notice, but it might be nice to get some sun and relax. Although, I don’t believe that politics won’t find their way into the trip, so that’s something to consider.” 

“It’s Thursday night,” I checked the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the room, “well, technically Friday morning. That's very very short notice. And we would need to be back in time to oversee the Illyrians progress.” I bit my lip, considering. “I wonder what Helion is planning.”

“Regardless, I’d like to pay him back for this letter. And this,” with the box laid open on the table, he held up a silver ring, embossed with a tiny bat on the front, “is just distasteful.” 

I laughed, taking the ring and slipping it onto my middle finger. “Lets go to the Day Court.” 

-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Day Court turns into more than they bargained for.

Mor, apparently, had foreseen such a need for Day Court formal gowns and had a few commissioned pieces on hand. I stood in front of the full-length mirror as she held each dress in front of me, suggesting various tailoring options.

The dress in her right hand was many layers of sheer twinkling gold, tiny white flowers blooming up from the hem, strapless, the neckline cut straight across. The other a pale yellow silk, a simple piece of fabric that wrapped around one shoulder and fell in front like supple sunshine, cinching at the waist. 

“It’s supposed to be a casual weekend,” I said once Mor paused long enough for a breath. 

“Do you doubt that Helion won't try to throw a fancy ball or supper and forget to tell us? There’s no such thing as a casual weekend in the Day Court.” 

I sighed, taking a seat on the edge of my bed and twisting my new ring around my middle finger. Maybe we shouldn't have agreed. “I can only hope to come back with a tan.” 

“Then this one will look fabulous on you,” she lay the strapless, shimmering gold gown beside me. The early morning sun had just begun to shine through the high windows, catching the top in light, a few birds chirping cheerfully right outside.

Rhysand had flown up to the House of Wind before bed the night before, inviting the rest of the court to join us this morning, after vanishing a short letter back to Helion with the time of our arrival. 

Mor had met him with a resounding yes, Azriel and Cassian tossing a coin, which left Azriel to watch over Velaris while Cassian joined us. Amren declined, matters of her own to attend to. 

A few rampant knocks at the door, and Rhysand poked his head in. “Are you ladies ready?” Relief sunk my shoulders at his voice, the tension of the morning melting away. This was a vacation, I had to remind myself, a relaxing weekend on the beach. Nothing dangerous lurked at the Day Court. 

Well, nothing that I truly feared. 

“No, we’re still dressing. Can you two quit bothering us for five minutes?” Mor responded, now snatching various hair clips from my vanity to put into a small satchel. 

I laughed, and found a tiny decorative pillow to throw at the door. “We do have enough to dress us for a decade.”

Early autumn in the Night Court meant breezy, sunny weather in the Day Court. I had chosen a cotton, forest green sundress that fell right above my knee for the day ahead, with tan strappy sandals. Mor was clothed in a slip of white, her lips painted a soft pink. But it wasn't as if we couldn't winnow back for a forgotten piece of jewelry. Although that seemed to be the assumption Mor was working on.

Cassian groaned from the hall, banging his fist on the wall. “I woke up early to stand here and wait?” 

I walked over to the door, swinging it open, Mor protesting in faux annoyance. “Did you invite Nesta and Elain?” 

Although I directed the question to Rhysand, Cassian answered, “No.” 

They’ve had a lover’s quarrel, Rhys sent through the bond. And Nesta will go where Elain does. So Cassian decided it was best that neither were invited. 

Cassian decided, huh? And a quarrel? They’re hardly speaking, I sent back.

A few months after the War ended, we all thought perhaps Cassian and Nesta were going to finally work out. But that came to an abrupt end, and since, Cassian has been back to his snide comments and Nesta to her sharp, icy responses. Only separated by months on end of complete ignorance of the other's existence. Which had been the case most recently. And Nesta, despite her unending charm and wit, never seemed to really stay on Rhysand’s good side. 

Of course he let the decision fall to Cassian. 

Or so he says. But Cassian had just come back from Nesta’s when he arrived this morning, I suppose my face revealed my surprise, because Rhys added, he's extra snappy now. She didn't come with him. 

Great. Even when they aren't talking, they're a pain. You definitely would've had to play peacekeeper this weekend. 

Be careful, you look enough like your sister that he might accidentally throttle you.

Funny. 

“Would you two cut it out, I don't know what the hell you guys are talking about.” He looked between us for a response, “Is it sex stuff? If so, let me in on the conversation because it’s just bad manners at this point,” Rhys just winked at him and he sighed, uncurling from where he was camped on the hallway floor, and stomped toward my bedroom door. “Mor! Get your ass out here or we’re leaving without you.”

Mor finally emerged, bag clinking with every jewel she could anticipate as possibly necessary. When I raised my brows at the stuffed satchel, she gave me a look as to say, there’s no such thing as being too prepared. 

The four of us ready, we headed downstairs, Mor doing a final sweep for any forgotten bauble. 

However, as we round the corner into the main entrance, Rhys sent, So much for a vacation. 

In front of the wooden double doors, Nesta stood, bag in hand and chin held high, “I’ve changed my mind.”

-

If the bickering didn't make our ears bleed, it was the deafening silence so thick it was smothering. 

But - no. My Mate and I were headed to the beach. That’s what this trip was; wine and bread and swimming and basking. And I would be foolish to let Nesta and Cassian ruin it.

I was sure Helion would garner most of the attention anyways. The High Lord had a knack for surprises, although I hoped they were kept to a minimum. My hand rested in Rhysand’s as we strolled up the steps to the Day Court Palace. I doubted he would still opt for his dark suit once we were settled, the sunshine already pressing in. 

The entrance to the Palace was lovely. An open, meticulously preened garden broken up only by straying paths curving curiously out of sight and massive, bubbling fountains. 

Helion waited atop the massive steps to greet us warmly, his tone and words passionate, as if we were friends parted for a hundred years. 

The High Lord of the Day Court strolled in front of us, hands behind his back, occasionally pointing out some rare piece of art or another. The early morning sunlight leaking in glinted upon his gold accents: the shimmering crown, and the scaled snake coiling around his right bicep. His all-white attire slung loosely off of his body as he walked. He was practically glowing, Day incarnate. 

He flashed me a grin, catching my stare. 

“You look lovely as well, Feyre. As always.” 

“Doesn't she?” Rhysand replied, looking down at me, his arm around my shoulders. “Although I think she fairs even better, if possible, under the starlight.” A glimmer of pride echoed in the bond. 

Helion only laughed. “And Mor, white becomes you. Perhaps the Day Court suits your tastes even more so than that drafty, dark abyss up North, hm?”

Mor flung her gold hair behind a shoulder, shrugging, “I’m afraid I simply look good in every color, Helion.” 

“A blessing and a curse, I’m sure,” Helion said.

“And me?” Cassian questioned, hands in his pockets toward the back of the group. “Illyrian fighting leathers too rough for your style?”

Helion sighed. “I did mention to Rhysand a few weeks ago about some alterations that would help with you and your Illyrian’s new movements. Just a couple material swaps, and there would be far less friction to deal with.”

“Not necessary. Our armor works just fine,” Cassian replied, a bit too sharply.

Helion gave him a weighing look over his shoulder, and then, “Nesta, might I say you look absolutely delicious this morning.”

I cringed, waiting for Nesta’s retort to strike like a viper, but to my surprise, she cooly replied, “Thank you, Helion.”

Did you just hear what I heard, I sent down the bond, itching to turn around and see her face. Or Cassian’s. 

Perhaps we mistakenly brought the wrong sister, Rhysand replied. That has to be Elain. 

“Expect breakfast to be exciting. There’ll be some familiar faces around the table.” 

Mor groaned, “Don’t be so cryptic, Helion. There will be other guests besides us?”

“Yes, but that’s the fun part. The mystery, the anticipation, all bubbling up to create a sense of wonder.”

“Why make them a surprise at all,” I questioned.

“It’s not in my blood to throw a boring breakfast party.” 

If this was just breakfast, the weekend was going to quickly tumble downhill. 

-

Our room was bright and inviting, a four-poster bed with light blankets strewn across the mattress lay in the center of the room, with a dressing and bathing chamber through a doorway just before the open balcony doors. Rhys peeled off his usual attire as I sat my bag on the bed, gazing out the window at the calm ocean just feet away.

I turned back into the room to see Rhys dressed and crouching down in the too-low vanity mirror, scruffing his hair back from his face. 

“Ravishing,” I said, doing my best impersonation of Helion. I walked behind him to wrap my arms around his waist. 

I rarely saw him in white, as he always favored darker colors at home. “Figured I’d try to fit in.” His slightly billowing button up contrasted deeply with his tanned skin, tucked into brown tunic pants. If he wanted to fit in, I said, he might as well tie the bed sheets around his waist and call it a day.

A gold chain lay on his tattooed chest, a star hanging from the end. “Just need a little piece of home,” he said following my gaze and rolling the star between his fingers. “And yes, I’m sure the sheets would’ve worked just fine.” 

I plopped into the vanity chair, and he stayed behind, running his fingers through my hair. “I’m glad we decided to come. The ocean is refreshing here,” he glanced out the open doors where the saltwater breeze floated in and back to my reflection. “But you say the word, and we’re home. No questions asked.”

I nodded, smiling, and let my head roll back into his touch, his hands cool and gentle on my scalp. “Thank you.” 

-

Azriel flew across Velaris, shooting straight for Rhysand and Feyre’s waterside estate. 

He was relieved when Cassian had won the coin toss the night before, the Day Court’s blasting sun and Helion’s constant train of thought wasn’t what he had in mind for a nice weekend anyway.

Although, this was. 

Elain opened the door wide after his second knock. He considered just walking straight in, but didn’t want to frighten her by just appearing. It took him a few times to realize his arrivals were usually too silent to be considered welcoming. 

She waved him inside, smiling, immediately diving into conversation about the weather stealing her lovely garden and how perhaps tea inside would be nicer today. 

She unceremoniously plopped onto the armchair by the unlit fireplace, sighing loudly, her flushed cheeks the same shade as her light pink gown. Even after everything, her change into Fae, the War, living in Prythian, she still preferred a rather human way of dressing. He liked that many parts of her old life seemed to still be intact. 

She tucked her hair behind a delicately pointed ear and smiled at something he said, agreeing whole heartedly. 

And that smile, damn him, made his chest tighten every time. 

He hoped Lucien stayed on another continent for a long, long while. 

-

After Helion’s comment on Nesta and Cassian sharing a room, Nesta insisted on a room even further from the rest of us, which ended up being quite far, closer to Helions private quarters. He said as much with a grin. 

We were all to meet a few floors above, after getting settled into our rooms. Rhysand and I arrived just after Mor, Cassian and Helion had taken a seat.

A full bouquet of deep purple sat in the center of the large glass dining table, light streaming through the massive windows along the east wall, catching on the petals and glassware. 

“I haven't had the chance to thank you for the ring,” I said, sliding into the chair to the right of Helion. “Spectacular craftsmanship.” Rhysand snorted as he took the chair beside me. 

Helion winked. “I knew you’d love it. I had it commissioned earlier this week” 

“Speaking of presents, Helion, who’s the big secret?” Mor asked. 

Before Helion could respond, Nesta walked in, attributing her late arrival to her room being so far away. And a few steps behind her trailed Tarquin, Cressedia, and an unfamiliar face, grinning at them all. 

“I thought, why not invite all our old friends?” Helion said, motioning for the group to take a seat. Nesta had sat across from Helion, beside Mor and Cassian. There was a seat at the head of the table, although no one claimed it. 

The tall male behind Cressedia bowed low. “It’s a true pleasure.” His dark eyes flicked to me for half a second, then back to looking at no one in particular. 

I shifted in my seat. Helion was enough to handle, and now another High Lord, Cressedia, and a random straggler brought a different light to this weekend.

The wiry male stood straight. “My name is Griffin, I’m a master chemist here in the Day Court. I’ve heard so much about you all. Not only good things though. Some were downright wicked.” The trio settled into their seats, “I'm excited to hear the true stories from your own lips, see how they compare.” 

“We’d rather hear your versions first, then work from there,” Rhysand said from beside me. 

Greetings arose from all around the table, now that the surprise guests had arrived. I slathered my buttery toast in jam, then reached for a few pieces of fruit. Rhysand poured my teacup to the brim, filling his own glass with orange juice. 

“How’s the Summer Court getting along,” Cassian asked Tarquin, loading his plate with various meats. “I hear from the she-devil of some rebel forces building against the new rulings for equality?” 

“Amren leaking information again?” Tarquin said, humor lighting his eyes. 

We hadn’t seen the High Lord of the Summer Court much lately, after the War the young male was focused on rebuilding his court, from the ground up. New rules were established to abolish the hierarchy of high fae and lesser fae. Certain High Fae didn’t take well to the change, but culturally ingrained expectations were difficult to overturn by themselves. 

“She talks only of her true love, and we’re clever enough to use context clues.” 

“Pushback is natural,” Helion cut in from beside me, “but who could deny there’s always room for improvement? Our thrones have housed some idiotic males in the past.” He took a sip on his drink, clinking it back down on the glass surface. “It’s our job to strive for excellence.” 

“Yes, but to stomp on tradition,” Cassian said, leaving his piled plate to grow cold, “will anger anyone. High Fae or otherwise.”

I spared a glance to Rhysand, who’s attention was equally split between his blueberry muffin, and the line of tension building between the two males. Cressedia and Mor were engaged in a bubbly side conversation, Griffin asking Nesta if she’d like any eggs.

“These are beautiful, Helion,” I said, reaching to touch one of the petals in front of me. “What are they called?” 

“Hollyhocks. They smell as devastating as they look.” 

I floated one out of the vase and toward my hand, sniffing at the open bud. 

“They’re said to promote fertility of the body and land. Some females crush them to drink the powder when trying for younglings.” 

My limbs felt light and heavy all at once at his words, but I floated the lovely flower back, taking a deep breath. I felt Rhysand lingering then, at the edge of my mind. A comforting graze.

“Helion, perhaps you can acquaint us further with Griffin? Any stories to share before we spill some of our own?” Rhysand said, drawing eyes off of my face. I could kiss him for that act alone. 

Rhysand grabbed my hand under the table, as Helion dove into some story about Griffin's knack for chemistry. 

I’m okay, I sent before he could ask. I took a sip of my tea.

I know you are, Rhysand sent back, giving my hand a squeeze. 

And you? I sent a few moments later. 

I’m sad, Feyre, he sent back quietly. But okay as well.

Maybe I didn't have to be either completely fine or a total wreck. I could almost feel Rhysand’s heart on the other side of those words, heavy and dreary. But still, he engaged in conversation, laughed with Tarquin… was still himself. 

Perhaps I could carry both the grief and joy in my heart at the same time. 

“Griffin is my personal handyman. He can fix anything, anywhere. He leans toward chemistry rather than nuts and bolts, and if he’s not here in the Palace, he’s probably in the library.” 

“Helion practically enslaved me after seeing what I was reading at said library,” Griffin replied from beside Nesta. 

“I couldn’t even make out the cover, and it was a picture with one word,” Helion said. “Far too much science.” 

After a few minutes of arguing the pros and cons of science versus magic, Griffin said, “Feyre, what was it like in the human realm? Before the War, I mean.” 

I blinked at the question, digging through my memory. “It’s fantastic if you’re wealthy beyond reason. After our fall from grace though, I was miserable. But I guess that’s true for anywhere, human or fae.”

“It most definitely is. Nesta, how did you find it?” 

“Cold. Not much worth remembering. If it wasn’t for Feyre, we’d be dead,” she said casually as she cut her sausage into pieces. 

Helion changed the subject then, teasing Griffin about his mess of brown hair being brought into his fancy Palace. Surely to keep Nesta from dragging the conversation down. 

After we had all had our fill of food and conversation, sparkling champagne was brought out on a gold platter, and we toasted to a wonderful weekend of sunshine. 

“Before we go,” Griffin said. “I have an inquiry of you all.” He glanced at Helion, who motioned for him to continue. Griffin swallowed before going on, “There’s a hidden place in the Day Court, not many know about. I’d like to invite you all tonight, for dancing and swimming. It’s a spit of hidden beach. However, there is a price to enter.”

“We have to pay to go to your beach? Enjoying your hospitality, Helion,” Mor said, raising her champagne glass in a mock toast. 

“No,” Griffin said quickly, “but it is the stone entrance that requires payment. It’s ancient. The payment isn’t in the form of money.”

Cassian scoffed. “What then? Our everlasting souls?” 

Griffin held Cassian’s questioning look, “To enter, you must give up a secret. One that no one else knows.” 

-

I wasn’t going to spill my guts to a rock archway to go to a beach party, and I’m sure Rhysand was thinking as much. 

“What could entice us enough to do so,” Rhysand asked. 

“The Day Court land soaks in knowledge. It once housed most of the libraries on this continent. Some locations still…. crave information. This certain place refuses to allow in any travelers without the secret as payment.” Griffin lowered his voice slightly, leaning forward. “In return, you’ll get a night you’ll never forget.”

Cassian chuckled. “I’ve seen the topless water wraiths, Griffin, and they are not easy on the eyes.” I had to agree with him there. 

Helion chimed in then, “I must admit, nothing quite completes a visit to my Court like a night at the Arch. I’ve been a few times myself, and enjoyed it immensely. Not to mention, clothing is optional,” he offered up that last bit in Nestas direction, who, to my surprise, didn't berate him but simply rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not the wraiths, Cassian, or the optional nudity,” Griffin said to Helion, “but rather the eye-opening experience. It changes your perspective on life. If I could drag everyone in there, I would.” 

“And the secrets?” I asked. “Where do they go?” 

“They power the Arch, sink into the very soil, to then become part of your own experience.” 

“So no one else hears them?” 

“Not unless you wish for them to.” 

Cressedia spoke first, breaking the thoughtful silence, “Well I’d love to go. Besides, I’m an open book.”

Tarquin looked hesitant, but then agreed politely. 

Cassian glanced to Mor, then said, “We will go where our High Lady and Lord go. It’s up to them,” he sat back, crossing his arms. 

“Is that your condition as well, Nesta?” Helion asked. “As long as we can convince the King and Queen of Darkness, then I can expect your presence?” 

“If they deign to appear, I will as well.” 

“Wonderful then, we nearly have a complete party.” He turned to us. “Rhysand, Feyre, what do you say?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel takes Elain to a crumbling temple, Rhysand and Feyre spend a day in Helion's court, and debate the invitation to the Arch.

Elain Archeron was very content to sit in the same armchair all day to talk to the shadowsinger. However, conversation alone didn't keep her hunger at bay. Her stomach rumbled, and she gave Azriel a sheepish look. 

He glanced at the grandfather clock, “Have you had breakfast?” 

She frowned. Besides the empty tea pot lying empty on the low table between them, she hadn’t had anything. “Have you?” She replied, mind already churning with what they had to work with in the kitchen. 

Azriel shook his head, smiling. She rather liked his hair longer, when it would sometimes fall over his face. He pushed it back as he said, “I’m fond of pancakes, though.” 

She was already walking toward the kitchen, Azriel just a step behind. “With chocolate chips, I’m sure.” 

“And plenty of syrup.” 

“Oh, we have tons! I sometimes like to shop with Cerridwen and Nuala. Rhysand and Feyre make the longest grocery lists.” She hadn't spent as much time with Feyre as she’d liked to recently, especially considering the loss they were both grieving. 

This morning, Elain had woken at the estate before sunrise to bring her eldest sister some fresh baked bread, from her favorite bakery. Nesta had been slipping again, distancing herself, losing time, just like before. Elain’s visions came in small spurts that no longer terrified her, but whatever was embracing Nesta was not what she wanted for her sister.

When Cassian had shown up at Nesta’s front door just as the sun began to rise, she had been inclined to say no just at the mention of Azriel staying in Velaris as well. This way, their tea time wouldn't be as... observed as usual. Nesta would practically turn into a hawk when Azriel came around.

Her sister had answered for the both of them before Cassian could hardly get the question out. Then proceeded to stomp circles around her apartment, and left an hour later with a bag packed, tossing Elain her keys and making her promise to stay out of trouble.

“Blueberries?” Azriel had pulled out all kinds of fruits and ingredients, already flicking the cook top to life.

“Let's do some with each,” they separated the pancake mix into different bowls, flour now on them both, more stark against Azriel’s black fighting leathers. Her bowl with blueberries, his with chocolate chips. 

As they mixed, Azriel asked, “Have you... spoken with Feyre?” 

“Not more than usual,” Elain replied, but she knew what he had meant. 

All she could offer was what she assumed was Feyre’s favorite meals and treats. How much time was appropriate for them to grieve by themselves? Maybe there was a certain timeline to it for the Fae. 

But, besides that, she didn’t really understand her youngest sister. She wasn’t sure how to connect to her, or make her feel comfortable. Not like she did with Nesta. Feyre had always been more wild, more independent, while her and Nesta relied on each other. 

“I’m just not sure where to start. I’ve always been closer to Nesta, and now…” The memory flashed in her mind, of Feyre and Rhysand’s bed sheets covered in blood, so clear even in the darkness as the vision had flashed in her head.

She hadn’t told anyone. Not even Azriel. Although the last few weeks he’d inexplicably been there for her, like he somehow knew.   
Or maybe his shadows knew. She eyed them as secretly as she could, but Azriel tended to hide them from her. For whatever reason of his own. 

“It’s a tough call, the give and take of a situation like this,” Azriel replied slowly. “But I think Feyre and Rhys are doing better with every passing day. They’ve each been through more than enough pain for a lifetime, though.” He sighed. “I’m sure they feel your support.” 

Elain doubted that, and couldn’t stop imagining that invisible wall between herself and her younger sister. As she absently stirred her bowl of pancake batter, she didn’t think she ever knew Feyre without that wall there. 

And was too scared to try. 

-

“Why not,” Helion said, after Rhysand gave me a considering look, which I returned just as heavily. “You’ll be bored to death otherwise.” 

“We’ll think about it today,” Rhysand said simply. 

But Helion pushed further. “Why not let Feyre decide?” 

“My Mate and I can decide so together.” I said. “But as interesting as the Arch sounds, I don’t think I’d really want to go,” I tried not to sound apologetic. I had a different idea for this weekend, while the Arch felt almost like a challenge. An exhausting challenge, that I didn’t care to meet. 

Cressedia laughed at that, piping in from down the table. “Helion, I’m sure they just want to bask in the sun. The Night Court, incidentally, makes one awfully pale.” 

“We might rather have a relaxing night than an intense one,” Rhys politely corrected, but I could feel more than hear him tense at the prodding. 

“Don’t you trust me when I say that it will be an enjoyable experience?” Helion asked.

“After a full day enjoying the Day Court, we’ll probably be too tired, Helion,” I replied. 

He rolled his eyes ever so slightly. “How paper thin. I get it, you’d rather break in the new bed than go see-”

“Enough.” Rhysand’s eyes were hard. “We’ll send word with our decision.” He made to leave. “Or we won't. Either way, the conversation is over.” 

Helion looked a bit surprised, as if he debated arguing or laughing, but as Rhys stood, I felt his power unleash around him, just barely, just enough. My power shuddered slightly in response. 

Helion pursed his lips, and only inclined his head politely as I rose to leave as well. 

I hadn’t realized the table had gone silent until the clicking of my shoes were the only sound, echoing through the chamber and out the door. 

-

He had already stayed too long, but hadn't even asked what he came to. Maybe it was too soon. He could come back tomorrow. 

But he’d promised himself he’d do it today. 

They’d finished their stacks of pancakes, only interrupted by the near-invisible Cerridwen and Nuala who offered to clean up the chaotic kitchen. He’d always admired the twins, and spent countless hours studying their movements -- how they glided and shifted like vanishing smoke. 

He was sure he still had more to learn from them both. 

“Elain,” he began. “Are you busy the rest of today?”

She appeared to ponder the question for a few moments, then, - “No, not at all.” 

“Can you, I mean, I would like to take you to a place, somewhere, to show you....something.” 

“That was a very vague invite,” she replied, bumping her hip against his as they walked toward the foyer. 

He took a moment to clear his throat. He could infiltrate courts and spy on High Lords and drop grown males to their knees, and yet…

“It’s very beautiful. I noticed it while flying ages ago, and thought you’d like to see it.” 

She squished her nose up, grimacing slightly. “Will we have to fly?” 

He let his wings loosen a bit, as if stretching them slightly. “Yes. But I can keep the bugs from your hair.” 

She let out a breathy laugh, “I can never get used to the height, is all. But I suppose if it's the only way there…” she trailed off, shrugging. 

He only smiled at her as they walked down the front steps of the grand estate, reaching out a scarred hand for her own. A bit of shame roiled in his gut at the sight, and he swallowed the urge to pull his hand away from her unmarred, delicate skin.

But Elain took it with no hesitation or second glance, and within moments, they shot into the sky.

Azriel smiled against the top of her head as they flew. 

-

Rhysand and I stood in front of a fork in the sand, with a weather-worn sign holding two arrows pointing crookedly down opposite paths. To the left, Nude Beach, to the right, Clothing Optional.

“So no family friendly beaches in the Day Court, I suppose?” I examined our options. 

Rhysand huffed a laugh. “None this close to the Palace.” 

I sighed, grabbing Rhysand’s hand to drag him right. He dramatically objected, but supposed it would be rather wrong of him to taunt the females that would never stand a chance against such a powerful High Lady. 

I gave a small tug on the hair at the back of his head for that, and we trudged through the sand toward the glistening water in the distance.

-

We claimed a spit of beach, as private as possible, after walking past lounging fae, some nude but most not, enjoying their sunny day by the water. Scattered umbrellas bloomed up from the white sand, laughter and light conversation humming through the air. 

I hugged close to Rhysand’s arm despite the heat, but the early autumn air kept it from being entirely smothering. 

He tugged his shirt off over his head, and I allowed myself to stare, my hand over my brow to block out the sun. After I drank my fill of his tanned skin, tattoos climbing across hard muscle, he chuckled and fell over me dramatically. “Like the view?”

I snorted. "You wish. You have something in your teeth.”

He sucked a tooth obnoxiously, smiling widely after. “Did I get it?” 

“No,” I replied playfully, gripping his chin as he straddled me, hand on either side of my head. I pulled him down for a kiss, soft and sweet. 

He pulled back first, rolling over and sighing as his head hit the powdered sand. “Helion sure knows how to ruin a relaxing weekend.”

I leaned up on one elbow, my other hand coming to lie on his bare chest, the skin silky smooth beneath my palm. “And you sure know how to stop his incessant questioning.” 

Rhysand stayed silent. He hadn’t wanted to push me past what I was comfortable with this weekend, and I had a feeling he didn’t want to be pushed himself. 

Not by Helion, or anyone else.

“I don’t mind going.” I said truthfully. Although I’d rather stay in with Rhys, or walk the pretty side streets of the Day Court, the Arch might not be completely miserable. And I might prefer that to unleashing Nesta in the city, free to find whatever hellhole she pleased. 

“We came as a favor, and he’s already sprung half the Summer Court on us. We don't need to go to some Day Court cult gathering,” Rhysand replied, annoyance lacing his words.

“Sprung half the Summer Court? You love Tarquin.” 

“Our light-hearted chats inevitably shift to heavy political advice. I’d rather actually enjoy our vacation, just this once. We’re constantly in correspondence already.” 

I veered the conversation,“And Griffin? What do you make of him?” 

“He seems smart and capable,” he shrugged.

“Trustworthy?” 

“I didn’t sense anything off. His mind was well guarded, though.”

“Sounds like we’re the untrustworthy ones, then.”

Rhysand nudged me with his knee. “I barely grazed him. He didn’t even know I looked. That’s hardly an invasion of privacy.” 

“And you think you’re so sneaky, huh?”

Rhysand sat up on his elbows, a teasing glint in his eye. “Don't make me use some of my new Day Court moves on you.” 

It was my turn to dramatically fall back into the sand, my hair sprawling out behind me. Right. Back home held more troubles than the Day Court. “That’ll be fun to deal with when we return. Devlon’s a raging ass.”

“I can make you forget about it,” Rhysand drawled. He now rose to lean on his elbow, looking down at me. I bit my lip at his change of tone, let alone the hungry look in his eye. “Forget the Illyrians,” he kissed my collarbone, “forget the Arch,” three kisses up my neck, “forget your name,” he barely grazed my lips after he whispered the last part into my ear. Pulling at the bottom of the shirt I’d thrown on in our rooms, he said, “Feyre, darling. The sign said ``clothing optional.”

I batted his hand away, although my heart had begun hammering in my chest. “I’m wearing a swimsuit.” I sat up and peeled the top off, discarding it with my shorts moments later. The dark blue suit I donned underneath was stark against my skin, Rhysand’s black bottoms blending far better with his own tanned legs and abdomen. 

“Let’s go back to the room,” Rhysand said jokingly, stroking my arms, eyes roving. 

I shook my head laughing as I turned to peer at the horizon. But I stared for a moment without really looking. Since we lost the pregnancy, Rhysand and I hadn’t been as intimate. The thought was still too hurtful. But I deeply missed the connection it had always brought us, the physical act of our love. He hadn’t pushed past small comments and jokes, but I knew we’d have to talk about it sooner or later.

I chose later. 

Shaking off the thoughts, I finally took in the view before me.

Beautiful. The same ocean, yet a completely different experience here in the Day Court. It wasn’t the soft flowing of the Sidra, or the inky dark, cooling waters on our own shores. No, this water was a deep blue, bright and inviting. Where it clashed with the white rocks, it sparkled in midair, spraying us both. 

I breathed in deep, the salty sea air filling my lungs. 

“Drinks?” Rhysand asked from behind me. I turned.“We passed a place not too far back. I can grab us something.” 

I pushed his chest gently until he was plopped back on the sand. “Allow me.” 

“Ah, to be waited on by a High Lady. An honor,” he sketched a faux bow as I kicked some sand into his lap, walking back toward where we came. 

On my trek up the shoreline, the Arch crept into my mind. It was almost eerie, the ties of the land to a fae's own secrets. I wondered what ancient magic made it so as I pictured the Arch solely based on the small mentions at breakfast: probably drooping and lonely, definitely massive and mysterious.Yet, it was Day Court tradition, part of their history. 

I’m sure they’d think Starfall was strange, with our splattering spirits. 

But with where my mind had been lately, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go somewhere desolate and isolated. Helion armed with his prodding questions and the very land hungry for my secrets. 

My stomach sank like it was made of lead, imagining the unfamiliarity of the Arch. I had an overwhelming rush of homesickness as I thought of our bedroom back at the estate. An urge to simply winnow back and not return, to curl under our piles of blankets and live there for days. Cool, quiet, familiar. 

With the Arch, we don't know what to expect, despite Griffin and Helion’s encouragement. It might be foolish to even consider going. I was surprised Nesta had entertained the thought. 

But Helion and Tarquin were both our allies. And Mor and Cassian would be there as well. 

I’d talk to Rhys about it. 

It wasn’t long until I spotted the little hut serving drinks, far enough back from the shore that when the tide rose, they didn’t risk flooding. 

I ordered something fruity sounding for us both, smiling at the thought of Rhysand sipping on something with pink sugar on the rim. The High Lord of the Night Court vacationing in style.

“Those look delicious.” Cressedia stood beside me, leaning onto the bar top. 

She might not have looked out of place on a sunny shore, but I was surprised to run into her. “We figured we’d check out the beach as well. Although I can't say it holds a light to the Summer Court.” 

“Is Tarquin with you?” I asked, not quite sure how to talk to Cressedia alone. 

She pointed to a figure in the far distance, which just as easily could’ve been a tree or an umbrella as much as it could’ve been the High Lord of the Summer Court. 

She turned back to me, “And Rhysand?” 

At her question, my mind flew to our first visit at the Summer Court years ago, when the pair had flirted at dinner, and I had thought it had gone even further. My blood boiled at the very thought, but before I could respond, “Too bad you didn’t choose the nude beach. Definitely would’ve been a favor to the ladies.” She winked, but the rapport had an edge to it that I didn’t appreciate. 

It was a careful comment on her part, as sharp as glass, though not well hidden. I smiled tightly, my power pushed to the surface with my temper. “I’m sure,” I said back flatly.

I turned to leave without a goodbye, but Cressedia walked with me, without having ordered her own drink.

“Have you two decided on the Arch tonight?”

Not that it was any of her business but, “We haven’t discussed it.” 

“I mean, there’s not much to discuss. You either can go, or you just can't handle it.” She shrugged, planting her feet in the sand as she faced me. I felt a bit ridiculous with the drinks in hand now, as I faced her as well. “But I get it if you’re too tired. Running a court is more work than you thought, huh? Poor Tarquin is exhausted. Without me, I think he’d just keel over dead.” 

She tilted her head and smiled like a cat, proud of her statement. I debated sending her shooting far into the ocean. 

I picked around the insults and said, “Tarquin’s doing great. There’s many changes at the Summer Court right now.” 

“Mmm,” she agreed halfheartedly, eyes narrowing. “You know, if you chose not to go, Rhysand can come to the Arch by himself. I can look after him. Those water wraiths have such sticky fingers sometimes-"

“Cressedia,” I interrupted, floating our drinks beside us effortlessly. "Did you do something different with your hair?” I touched one of her braids, rolling it between my fingers. “I’ve always thought this, but haven’t had the chance to tell you. You completely remind me of a water wraith I used to know. I can't place what exactly it is…” I looked her over, considering. “It could be your gaping mouth or your lanky hair.” I dropped the braid, holding eye contact, "Maybe your pitiless eyes or dull skin. Hm. Anyway, be careful swimming, they often approach their sisters. Or those who are unfortunate enough to be a rare look alike.” 

When I turned to leave, grabbing our drinks from the air beside me, she didn’t follow. 

-

Rhysand had sucked his drink dry within minutes, thoughtfully looking at the ocean. “So now you want to go?”

“I mean, why not? I don't want to waste our time here. We never visit another Court just for fun. This is a special occasion."

He eyed me suspiciously. “You’re sure?”

I nodded for what felt like the millionth time. “Rhysand, I want to go. More importantly, I want to know your secret.” 

He huffed a laugh at that, “It has to be something no one else knows, including Mates,” but seemed to frown at the thought. “This might be difficult.” 

“Not for me,” I said, chin held especially high. 

He gasped. “I knew you were a Spring Court spy all along.” 

Before I could retort, he scooped me up, running toward the water. 

“Traitors will sink, the honorable will float. Let the seas execute proper justice!” Rhysand announced dramatically, his voice deepened, just before he tossed me in. I squealed, coming back up just as fast to splash him. 

I clung to his chest and laughed as the waves washed over us, and while we swam I wasn’t scared at all. Or bone-deep exhausted or even weary.

I needed an escape right now, we both did. The Arch might provide just that.

I sent a horse-sized wave to crash over Rhysand’s head, and when he emerged half-drowned with his hair stuck up sideways, I laughed so hard I cried. 

-

Elain tilted her head. “What is it?” 

Azriel had landed them in front of the overgrown marble entrance at the base of a rocky mountain, ivy devouring the front, pillars nearly crumbling upon one another. 

The grimacing look on Elain’s face urged him to explain himself, as if guilty of some terrible crime. 

“Is it even safe?” She looked back to him, then quickly got out - “I mean it's quite lovely. I can tell it has a great amount of…” she seemed to search for the right word, “history.” 

He laughed. “This isn’t it.” His heart raced a bit. Cauldron, if this was it, he’d die of embarrassment right here with that reaction. Azriel began walking toward the entrance, beckoning her to follow.

Elain trailed him, a step behind, skirts raised high.

He had made sure the flight here didn't ruffle one hair on her head. But could tell she still didn’t care for the heights and steep drops, even with Azlanding and banking as gentle as he could.

The color always left her face, her normally blushed cheeks had grown pale. 

The structure they approached was built into the side of a mountain, at the very bottom, tucked underneath a jutting outcrop.

“With the ivy’s blending in and the location,” he explained, “my eyes had always passed over this place. It wasn’t until I landed near here to rest years ago that I finally found it.” 

Once inside, the massive steps immediately descended. He reached back but Elain seemed to be sure footed on her own. “I figured it used to be a temple of sorts,” he gestured to carved statues on either side of the walls, cut from a blend of the rock and white marble. Men, women, creatures, Fae both male and female, high and lowborn. “Forgotten, abandoned, but not destroyed.” 

He watched as Elain looked up in awe, at the tiny slits cut into the rock up the walls and across the domed ceiling, letting in small trickles of light that danced and gleamed atop occasional pieces of marble that lied untarnished. 

“After a sweep through that first time, I forgot it myself. Until recently… you’ll see why.” 

Azriel heard her foot slip before she had time to react, gripping under her bicep to steady her. She let out a nervous laugh. 

“It’s a rough fall,” Azriel said, keeping his hand on her arm as she regained her pace. The steps weren’t exactly steep, but they were expansive, the rock hard and even sharp in some places.

Azriel spotted the glowing centre just as Elain wondered aloud about the growing sound of water. 

“I think it was to worship some water God or another,” Azriel explained as they finished their descent. 

In the middle of the chamber sat a gurgling fountain, the marble itself cut to resemble cresting waves. It appeared to be the engine that powered the flowing within the rest of the room. Down the walls surrounding them, water ran in foot wide crevices, stained glass depicting love stories and tragedies paneled atop the paths at random. 

Directly above the fountain, a hundred feet up, a small hole had been cut, partially covered with climbing vines. 

“For about a week every year,” Azriel began, “the sun is perfectly risen over that opening.” He pointed and Elain tilted her head back to look, but said nothing. “In fact, it should be any minute now.” 

She remained silent, so Azriel tried again. “And you can see the panels here, I think some of the stained glass characters match with the statues along the staircase.” 

“I can see red,” Elain said.

He nodded, also seeing the red in the glass. How was that all she noticed? 

She hated it. She had to. He felt foolish for bringing her here. She didn't even like to fly, and he pushed her to.

Azriel cleared his throat, searching the room. “And here, I believe this fountain powers the water that travels down the sides-”

As he pointed, Elain fell. 

Azriel caught her inches from the ground. 

She convulsed, her eyes rolling back. 

Feyre had mentioned her sister’s powerful visions, perhaps one or two this strong a year, but he’d never seen it himself. Nesta practically took an arm off anyone who dared. 

“Elain,” he said, holding her head in his lap. She began murmuring nonsense, similar to her weaker visions. A storm, a chase, something about pain. He tried to quiet the panic that threatened to take over, channeling his centuries long discipline. 

This was common in Seers, she would be fine. 

But, they were far from Velaris. From any healers. 

Because of him. 

As Azriel held Elain, trying to sooth her fidgeting, the sun at last slid over the opening.

The chamber filled with warping, iridescent colors, bringing the stained glass panels to life. 

Azriel lifted her into his arms, taking the stairs two at a time. 

It wasn't until the very top, right before he took flight, that Azriel caught the name that fell from her lips.

“Lucien.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain has a psychic fit, Azriel tries to help, Feyre and Rhysand go to the Arch.

I laid, soaking with salt water and fully content, on the shore of the Day Court. 

“Are you ready to head back soon?” Rhysand asked from beside me. I grunted noncommittally. 

“Good point,” he responded, relaxing again. 

Minutes passed, and I dozed in and out of sleep, Rhysand’s hand in mine as I assumed he did the same. 

When I woke next, the sun was beginning it’s descent.

“We should go,” I muttered, turning to Rhys. But he wasn’t beside me. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and spotted him, ankle deep in the water, gazing toward the horizon. 

I walked up beside him, slipping a hand around his waist. “Imagine if this was our forever,” he said after a few moments, still staring ahead. “If everything else fell away, and it was just you and I.” 

For a few minutes, the waves crashing were the only sound. I entertained the thought. Hiding out from the world, a little hut on the beach, never any more responsibility than feeding and bathing ourselves. An immortal life spent with just each other. 

“I’ve been thinking of what to say at the Arch. Something I’ve never told a soul.”

I tucked the image deep in my mind, my heart. At his tone, I offered quietly. “We don’t have to go.”

“We do,” he replied. “I don’t think there is more of a pure freedom than unburdening your secrets. And to be able to give it to the land, instead of loading it upon someone else’s back… risking judgement. It’s a release. Honestly, I wish the Night Court offered something similar.”

My heart strained at that thought that Rhysand had things he hadn’t even shared with me yet, things he did not want to touch or let me bear. 

“Okay then, we can do it. I think I know what I’ll say as well.” 

I thought of that secret, pushed down so far that I only could glimpse it, the shameful pit in my stomach that accompanied it. And I was glad for time to have dampened the sharp edges of that memory. Maybe the Arch would help in some sort of release. 

Maybe. 

“Have you ever heard of the Arch?” I asked after a moment of silence, both of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. “I mean, before this morning.”

“Each court has its own hidden places, lost to history or only used by a select few. I figured there was a handful in each.” He shrugged. “But no, to answer your question. Not explicitly.” He looked down at me, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “And Feyre, I know they said the secret has to be powerful but choose carefully. It’s supposed to be some kind of healing experience which sounds great, and the Day Court has always had… an extravagant culture. It might be somewhat over stimulating.” 

I knew what he was getting at, and knew he mentioned it for my own good. But I couldn’t help being a bit angry that he thought I’d even go if I couldn’t handle it. 

“We can always turn on our heels and run out if it’s that miserable. Or just winnow.” 

“Old magic, probably old magic wards. Winnowing maybe not, but we should be able to just leave,” Rhysand said thoughtfully. 

I felt that dull fear that sometimes threatened me again. Trapped somewhere, helpless to leave. Confined. 

The tide that pushed against my feet seemed to drag it out and away, far into the sea beyond. Rhys seemed to notice his words a second later, kissing my temple to soothe their effect. 

“Will you be okay? If it’s underground?” 

Rhysand shrugged. “I’m sure some older piece of me will panic,” he squeezed my shoulder. “But I’m past that fear.” 

I felt the same. 

After a few minutes of standing there, watching the sun continue to descend, we began walking back to the Palace. 

“I wonder where the others went off to today.” I hoped Nesta was okay, whether she decided to stick with Cassian and Mor or not. She tended to find the underbelly of a city and exploit it. 

“She’s fine, Feyre.” Rhysand replied drily. 

“Who is?” 

“She’ll break the hand of anyone who touches her. Reaches for her, even.” He slung the bag we brought over his shoulder before it could slide down. “And that’s only if Cassian doesn’t get there first.” 

I sighed. “She doesn’t need him to protect her anyways.”

“If she continues in these outbursts she will. She’s hardly trained.” 

Nesta had rolled around and sparred with the best of them a month after the War. First determined to protect herself, then to prove herself. But a few fights with Cassian and harsh critiques from Amren had her off the mountain and in her apartment, insisting she’d learned everything she’d wanted. Now the news we recieved of her was of bar fights and misunderstandings gone wrong. 

“She’s trained….I mean, she tried, atleast,” I amended. 

“She gave up. How many times did you practically beg her to continue? If not for her own sake, then for Elain’s?” He shook his head, sick of the same words he’s repeated before. 

“Maybe you could cut her some slack, Rhys. She’s making progress.” 

“Slack? She’s had years of slack. And years before that, letting her baby sister hunt in a frigid forest to feed the family.” He murmured the last part sourly. 

This cyclical fight, where we always ended up if Nesta was the subject. Rhysand would not let the past go, refusing to see her healing that has happened. Just slowly, and in her own way. 

“Didn’t you hear her comment at breakfast? She knows what happened. She knows what she did.”

“But she’s not sorry,” he snapped back.

“Stop. Just… stop.” We’d paused in an outcrop of trees, shaded, just off the path. It made me even more angry that Rhysand looked so effortlessly handsome, even in the heat. I wanted to shove at him just for that. “I’ve forgiven her. Isn’t that enough for you.” 

He took a step closer, touched my shoulder, my hair, my cheek. Then, “I’m sorry for snapping. But no. It’s not. I don’t know if it will ever be.” The sentence started soft but ended with the same anger in his voice. 

I walked away, following the trail back to the Palace, Rhysand a step behind. 

This. This inability to accept Nesta as my sister, a person that’s made mistakes and maybe doesn’t cope well but is still my family. It boiled my blood. 

Once we got back to our rooms, Rhysand drew in a deep breath, but before he could speak I went into the bathing chamber and shut the door. 

-

The blood that had dribbled from her hand last night still lay on the floor of her flat, nearly dried. Blue birds flitted back and forth just outside her high kitchen windows, singing to each other. 

She left the shattered remnants of the plate as well, it’s smooth ceramic pieces spread out from the impact like a tiny explosion. 

If Varian had one ounce of intelligence he would have proved true with his promise last night. It had been weeks now since they last spoke in person. She even learned how to cook a pot roast to perfection, and purchased a bottle of wine worth a small fortune. And here she was, alone because of some surprise trip his High Lord took, he was “responsible for the Summer Court.” As if they simply couldn’t go on without his presence.

She stared at the plate a few moments more, her anger a rising heat within her throat. 

Stupid males. This is what they do. And she was a fool for allowing it. 

Half of her wanted to scream at the birds happily chirping. Scare them away for good. 

But she gave in to the other half of herself as she popped the wine bottle, worth quite a few of her most precious jewels, and drank deeply. 

The birds still singing, the plate still shattered, Amren drank and drank until the wine bottle too lay in slices across the floor. 

-

Azriel was uncertain of where he was flying. Uncertain of the still twitching female in his arms. Uncertain that his pounding heart would stay put in his chest.

But he knew damn well he wasn’t going to tell Nesta about it. 

It would be inevitable. Nesta would screech something nasty at him and then make sure they wouldn’t see each other for a long, long while. A year ago Elain barely scraped her knee after a fall, and Nesta found a way to keep them apart for weeks. Acting as if he tossed her from the House of Wind to die. 

And she’d probably find a way to blame him for this as well. This great power of hers, innate to her only. He could sometimes feel it, or his shadows could. They’d whisper it’s language to him, of its gentle thrumming beneath her skin. Warn him of its prowess, it’s daily growth. It’s lack of control. 

Something had triggered Elain. Healers would swear it was random, but he’d felt it, heavy in the air before her fall. Like an invisible storm settling in. 

Instinct had him steering to the House of Wind, but he decided better of it and detoured to the Estate. Nuala and Cerridwen should be able to get help. 

Azriel could handle it. The others didn’t need to know, not yet. 

His shadows clicked open the door and he threw it back with a kick, still carrying Elain, who had gone limp right before they landed. 

He called for Nuala to get a cool rag and water, and Cerridwen to find a healer. 

Laying her on the couch, her bloodless face sent a jolt through him. Azriel pushed her hair back from her face, “Elain? Can you hear me?” 

He could see her eyes darting beneath her eyelids, as if she were dreaming. Sometime on the trip, the muttering had stopped. 

Nuala returned with supplies, reaching to wipe her forehead with the damp cloth. Azriel took it from her as he crouched on the side of the couch. 

“Should we alert Nesta or-“ 

“No, tell no one.” He asked for tea and something to eat, and Nuala bowed her head before heading back to the kitchen. 

Her skin was chilled from the flight, her hand clammy against his. “Elain, it’s Azriel,” he said quietly over her. 

She began muttering, but Azriel couldn’t make out most of the words. Something gold with wings, a smokey chamber, and…. crying. She began crying, sobbing, even with her eyes closed, her mind unresponsive. 

He stayed there. leaning over her with the cool cloth, beckoning her back to the surface. Besides the movement of her eyes, she didn’t stir. 

The healer finally arrived, storming in and demanding to know the status of her patient. Azriel explained what he could, what had happened up until now. 

The healer, young and fiery, batted him away, placing a hand on Elain’s forehead, then on her chest. He listened to her heartbeat slow to a labored thump, after it had been pounding on the fly over. “Get me paper and something to write with.” 

Azriel winnowed into the study down the hall, grabbed the items from the desk and winnowed back in a blink. The Healer sat Elain upright on the couch, placing the pad of paper on her lap and the pen in her twitching hand. Then, she leaned toward her ear and whispered for a moment.

Her twitching stopped. She grasped the pen, and drew on the pad of paper carefully, her eyes still closed. 

Azriel had never sat in on one of these psychic episodes, Nesta had never allowed anyone besides the Healer and perhaps Feyre. This wasn’t the Healer she usually had, the one who seemed to live forever and could practically bring people back from the dead. No, this healer was much younger, her long black braids pulled back from her face, her eyes focused solely on her patient. Despite her youth, there was a wise air about her. 

“How long has she been like this?” Her hard gaze didn't stray from Elain, even as she spoke to Azriel. 

“She fainted, and I flew straight here, not too long ago.” He shifted then, unaware that he hadn’t had his wings completely tucked. He’d knocked over quite a few pictures and vases. He made a mental note about buying Feyre and Rhys a new lamp. “She’s been on the couch like this for maybe ten minutes?” He’d given a million tough reports, statuses of horrible events that happened before his eyes. But this had his knee bouncing, his hands twisted into each other like a knot. 

“Any vomiting? Seizures?” The Healer lay out some items from her bag on the low lying coffee table as she spoke, where they had shared tea earlier that morning. 

“No vomiting, she has been twitching, and it was worse before but... I don’t know if it was a seizure.” 

“Did she hit her head at all?”

“No I caught her.”

“You caught her?” She looked up at that from where she knelt before Elain, who was still scribbling on the paper in her lap. 

“Yes.”

“As she fell?”

“Yes.” 

She gave him a flat, assessing stare. “I was told this is the High Lady’s and Lord’s home. But you are not Rhysand.” 

“No.”

“And this,” she pointed at Elain over her shoulder, “is not Feyre.” 

Azriel shook his head. “Azriel. I work with Rhysand and Feyre.”

“Ah,” her eyes lit with recognition at his name. “But you’re friends with them too? You and this one?” 

“Elain.” Azriel supplied. 

“Yes?” Elain’s voice was rough, as if she’d just woken from a deep sleep. Azriel was there in a second, his shadows instantly prodding.

The Healer held out an arm to block him, and he had to resist the urge to twist it behind her back. 

Azriel’s eyes flicked to the pad of paper, and on it was sketched a single tower, a lake or large pond at the base. Flames rose from the tower, from the grass, even from the water itself. 

The Healer looked too, then, eyebrows shooting up. “I’m not really supposed to ask but what the hell is that.”

She lurched forward, grabbing the front of Azriel’s jacket. “We must go. Now.” 

“How do you feel?” The Healer asked Elain. She set her hands on her shoulders, gently trying to rest her back against the sofa. To Azriel’s surprise, Elain pushed back. 

“I’m fine. We need to go.” She looked back at Azriel, her eyes pleading. He had rarely seen her so intense, but the clarity in her eyes was undeniable. 

“It builds like that because you suppress it.”

At that, Elain finally looked at the Healer. “Who are you? Where is Nora?” 

“Nora is busy. And either you’re suppressing your power or that was a heavy thread in fate's design you just tugged at.” She leaned forward, intrigued at the thought. 

“Nora is my Healer. I won’t speak to you.” 

The young Healer laughed at that. “Fine, dont. You’re alive now so my job is done anyways.” She began packing her things, Nuala offering her tea that she politely declined. “Oh and drink that powdered mix on the table or you’ll faint before you can even stand up.” 

When the door shut behind her, Elain turned to Azriel again. “There were two. Two visions mixed into one, so it was hard to tell which was where.” She picked up the drawing in her lap, studying it. “At first I saw,” she shook her head. “Not this. No tower and fire. But I can’t place it. It was… chaotic.” 

Azriel nodded, listening. “Was the first one dangerous? Did it feel dangerous?” He reached for the powdered substance and mixed it into the cup of hot tea. 

“It did, in a vague way. Like, water running through your fingers. I couldn’t grasp any real danger. But the fear was real.” She swallowed leaning back, then looked at the flaming tower again, “but this one. This one was clear. He’ll be hurt, Azriel, badly. What is the soonest we can be gone?”

Azriel’s gut clenched at the urgency in her voice, the urgency for Lucien, her Mate. The male she was fated for. But still, he nodded. “Tell me everything you remember, I’ll leave now, I’ll have to tell Amren about the Illyrians but-“ 

“No.”

“No? No what?”

“I’m coming with you.” 

“You can stay with Amren if you feel unsafe,” she cringed at that. “Or just stay here. Your sisters will be back soon and I’ll winnow to let Rhysand know of my departure.” 

“No, we are definitely not telling my sisters. And anything Rhysand knows, he’ll tell Feyre.” 

Even though he agreed, he didn’t like the idea of keeping something from Rhys and Feyre. Even for a little while. “You’re not going.” 

“You need me to find Lucien.” 

“Who says we need to find him anyway?”

She stiffened at that. “He is part of our court. And as such, we are vowed to protect him. And I know Feyre would agree with me.” 

“But we can’t tell Feyre?”

“No.” 

“Then how will she enforce it?” 

She leveled her stare, then sighed. “Azriel, please. This is the only way it will work, trust me. We have to go.”

“If you’re coming then I’m bringing your Healer.” He stood, handing her the tea cup with the medicinal mix. 

“She is not my Healer. It would slow down the entire trip.” 

“Drink. And this conversation is what’s slowing us down. The Healer comes with us, or I tell Rhys and Feyre. Your choice.” 

Elain, the blush now rising back to her cheeks, sat up pin-straight, realizing her demeanor after the episode was not what she had grown to be presented as. She flattened her hair that had been tangled from her twitching, and finally nodded primly. “Okay then, Az. Go grab the Healer. I’ll start packing.” 

Azriel didn’t wait for another word before he winnowed to the street in front of the Estate, and walked for a moment before spotting the braids with the same beads turning a corner. There. 

He winnowed again, appearing right in front of her. 

“Shit!” She dropped the bag in her hands, “Don’t do that, this supplies is expensive.” 

Azriel apologized shortly, bending over to help pick up some items that had spilled into the street. When they straightened, he realized how much shorter she stood, even with her shoulders thrown back and head high. He rethought his decision to drag her with them to a different continent. 

“Is Elain okay? Is she having another vision?” 

“No, no I just- What was your name again?” 

“Celia. Thanks for asking.” 

He ignored the sarcasm. “Okay, Celia. How do you feel about taking a... trip?” 

She cut her eyes as if danger were around the corner from the sweet shop they stood before, then looked back to him. “Right now?” 

“Yes.”

“Well...I’m working.” She held you her bag and shook it so the contents rattled between them. 

“Yes, but this is also work. You’ll be paid for your services.” 

“I’m headed back to the Healer’s Compound, I can’t just leave for the day. In fact, this little side job already put me behind schedule.” She tried to side step around him, as if that settled it. He stepped with her. 

“I’ll have someone contact your supervisors. It’s a matter of protecting the High Lord and Lady’s emissary.” 

She squinted her eyes at that. “It’s a secret mission for Rhysand and Feyre?” 

“They’ve ordered it directly,” he lied. 

“Hm. Well I can’t very well say no to the High Lord and Lady of our Court, can I?” 

He smiled. “No, not really.” 

She chewed her lip as she studied him, his wings, his posture, his choice of shoes that day. He wished he’d worn the newer ones. She looked up at the sky and let out an exasperated sigh. “Would Elain be going?” 

“She won’t take no for an answer.” He decidedly left out that fact that she specifically did not want this Healer, Celia, to even go. He didn’t even want to go. But he wouldn’t turn from saving a life. Even if it was Lucien Vanserra. 

It was the right thing. 

“Yes, I’d advise rest after an episode that strong, but if she’s noncompliant…” she shrugged. 

The busy street split around them as they stood on the sidewalk, Lucien’s life supposedly hanging in the balance of this very conversation. “Is that a yes?” Azriel asked. 

She sighed deeply, sounding more like a groan. “Fine. I’ll go with you and the psychic one. Although it hardly sounds like I have a choice in the matter.” 

“Fantastic. Meet back at the Estate as soon as you can, pack light. We’ll provide most of the clothing and supplies.” 

“Right,” she replied, continuing her walk down the street. But before she was too far, she turned back. “Wait! What is it we’re doing exactly?” 

”I have a plan,” Azriel replied. He didn’t, but she didn't need to know that part. “Your job is to keep Elain alive, I’ll handle the rest.” 

“Easy enough.” She walked away again, blending into the crowded street. “Oh,” she shouted down the street. “I expect to be paid in solid gold!” 

Azriel watched until she was gone, then winnowed back to the Estate. 

-

I tried to fix my hair in the mirror, pulling back the front but letting the rest fall loose. 

Rhysand watched from the bed, lounging across its plush top cover. 

“I sent a message to let Helion know we decided to go.” 

I nodded, still focusing on my hair. 

I could never get the back right, pieces always stuck out at odd angles. I blew out a breath, tossing the clip Mor had packed onto the vanity. 

“I’m famished,” Rhysand drawled. He smacked his lips. “Dehydrated too, I think.” 

“You’ll just have to wait until I can get this damn clip in right.” 

He came up behind me, “May I?”

I sighed, handing him the obsidian clip, a small part of a series of wedding gifts from Rhysand years ago.

In a few simple maneuvers, he had the top half of my hair pulled back, a few pieces framing my face. 

“I hate when you do that.” 

“Fix your hair?”

“No, stand there and look so damn smug, after fixing my hair.” 

“Well, I’m proud of my work.” 

I huffed a breath. “Oh I’m sure you are.” 

“It’s easier to do it, from my perspective.” He rested his hands on my shoulders. “I see things better from back here,” he brushed my hair back over my shoulder, planting a kiss to my temple. 

“Yes then you know from my perspective it’s more difficult because I’m not in the same position as you.” 

He tilted his head like a cat. “I do see that, yes.”

“So then don’t judge me for not doing it right when I’m working from a different angle than you. A disadvantaged one, in fact.” 

He raised his brows. “I suppose your positioning does put you at a disadvantage.” 

“And not to mention, we are different people with different skill sets. You can't expect me to do everything you do how you do it. So you’ll understand if it takes me longer to clip my hair back as nicely. But also that I’m trying the best that I can with what I have.” 

“Feyre-”

“You‘ve dismissed her.” I twisted around in my chair. “When was the last time you spoke to her, really spoke to her?”

“Well-“

“That was rhetorical, I’m not finished.” 

He waited for me to continue. 

“She was not always like this. She may have always favored Elain, but she was kind to me as a child. She is my sister and you are my husband and Mate. I am only asking for you to try to mend the relationship. It’s like you have no hope for her at all.” 

I turned forward in my chair, crossing my arms and leaning back. I could see Rhysand’s reflection in the mirror, frowning. 

He spoke quietly, gently. “I did have hope, of course I did. But it’s been years now, Feyre. And time and time again Nesta has proven that hope to be useless.” He looked at me then, gazing into the mirror as I was. “When I look at her, all I see is a starving version of you, young and scared and cold. When she speaks some poisonous comment, all I can hear is that same voice ordering you around when you were already scared and lonely. And just being near to her...” He shook his head. “When my visions of you were the only thing I clung to Under the Mountain, she was busy stomping you out. Smothering you. Letting you all starve without lifting a finger.” 

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, and staring at the polished marble floors. 

“I understand.” I had seen someone for months to work through the bitterness and anger I felt toward my sister, and that outside point of view gave me a fresh outlook on Nesta, and how she was trapped within her own anger and sadness, using it as a shield and weapon. Although he supported me going to the sessions, Rhysand didn’t have the same epiphany. 

“A sister should be there for you. And when you needed someone, Nesta only made your life harder.” 

I nodded. “She knows how you feel about her and that only makes it worse. She can tell that you only tolerate her.” 

“I have tried in the past, Feyre. At Least Elain attempts to show remorse. Nesta is icy about the whole thing, brushes over you all starving like she’s talking about the weather or a boring book.” 

I swallowed my retort. He was right, and I knew that. But as my Mate, my husband, I needed them to be okay. I needed them to be more than this… blank indifference toward each other. And maybe Nesta wasn’t fully equipped to do so, but Rhysand was. Maybe keeping it more on the casual side was just what they needed. 

“A lunch.” I suggested. “Take her to one lunch, just the two of you,” I again twisted around in my seat to look at him. “You have to create a space for the relationship to grow.” 

He grimaced at the suggestion, and I raised my brows. If anyone can figure out a way to understand her, it’s you, I said down the bond. You have a way with people Rhysand. It makes them feel safe. 

My sessions with a professional hadn’t really helped me understand Nesta as much as sort through my strong feelings toward her, helped me redirect them, control them, recognize them. Understanding Nesta was a person who wielded her trauma and emotions like a blade, hurting people around her in the process. 

Cassian has followed her like a puppy, yelled outside her apartment, pissed her off, bought her gifts and ignored her for months on end. Pretty sure he’s tried everything. 

Cassian fights fire with fire, I replied. Your strategy has always been different. You worked with me, when I couldn’t see that anything was even wrong. 

Well Nesta is a far less appealing project. And I don’t think my particular...way of doing things will help in her situation, it hasn't in the past. But -

But? I said. 

Rhysand, looking like I’d just asked him to kill someone, chewed on his bottom lip. “ For you, darling. I will ask her. But if she says no, I can’t force her. And I get to pick the place.” 

I faced the mirror again. “Thank you. By the way, my hair looks perfect.” 

He gave me a slow smile in return. 

-

After a quick bite to eat, rare to speed through a dinner at the Day Court, the group was winnowed by Griffin and Helion to wherever the Arch lay hidden. 

I think we’re somewhere near the southern border, Rhysand said through the bond. 

I had no idea how he came to that conclusion, but tried to mentally place us on the map nonetheless. 

Griffin, dressed in casual clothing, and led the short expedition from the front. 

“We couldn’t have winnowed any closer?” Cressida whined. I looked away to roll my eyes, but felt Rhys nudge me. 

“Wards,” Griffin replied, holding back strings of ivy for Nesta and Mor to pass through. He looked up, and we all followed his gaze. “The local birds. Their magic is genetic, passed through the generations. Once we pass their ring of nests, our own magic is dampened.”

I noticed them now, white and brown nests speckled the treetops, the setting sun making the sky overhead a deep pink. 

Rhys halted at that, Cassian already looking like he would tear the throat from one of the tiny flitting creatures that sang above us. 

“That wasn’t mentioned at breakfast.” He stood casually with his hands in his pockets, but I knew his mind was calculating the pitfalls of being in another court with minimal magic. 

Helion tutted, not at Rhysand, but Griffin’s explanation. “Let’s not make it so dramatic, Griffin. This is not a grand scheme, so you can call down your bat.” He waved a hand toward Cassian, which made him tense further. “It’s more to protect us from ourselves once we are within the Arch. The experience involves all that we are, including our powers.”

“And what control do we have?” Rhysand asked. 

“Your mind,” he tapped his temple once, twice. “Dive as deep as you’d like, or laze in the shallows.” He shrugged. “The wards are merely a safety precaution, friends.” 

Tarquin and Rhysand looked at eachother. Are you comfortable with that, Rhys sent down the bond. 

This wouldn’t be another thing I needed to run away from, that I couldn’t handle as the High Lady. I nodded. 

Rhys gave me a tight lipped smile, and nodded at Griffin to continue our pace toward the Arch. 

Everyone stayed mostly silent on the trek, although I knew we were all listening, on edge with our powers slumbering within. The only noises I picked up were those of a typical wooded area, small creatures scurrying and insects sounding each other. 

It wasn’t long until we reached a small waterfall, the rocks surrounded covered in bright green climbing ivy’s, yellow flowers that looked like bells hung from nearly every surface. 

Griffin smiled brightly, hands on his hips. 

“So?” Nesta inquired. “Where is it?” Rhys cut his eyes to me at her harsh tone, but I ignored him. 

Helion raised his hand, sending a small breeze to blow past the flowers. 

They began to ring. 

One after another, the small clearing around the waterfall was filled with a melodic chiming. 

The waterfall peeled back, as if it were a curtain all along. First at the bottom, then cutting through to the very top. 

“This way,” Griffin said, hopping down from the boulder he stood upon a moment ago. 

We followed a barely visible path, under the waterfall and into what was hidden within. 

The water closed behind us with no more than a little splash. 

I pressed what little power I had against the walls, the water, testing for a weak spot. Nothing gave. 

It wasn’t just a cave, or even a tunnel. 

No, this did not occur here naturally. Or atleast, not all of it. 

Black crystal jutted out at us at odd angles, a blue wave of it swooping over the top of the cavern. Despite its hidden spot, it didn’t feel oppressive. The space was large enough to echo, the air warm and damp.

But there were just as many handcarved spots as natural ones. A little bridge hung before us, high over a pool of dark water, not even swaying in its suspension. 

And there, across the bridge, a massive crystal Arch glowed blue, like the milky light from a full moon. It lit the space well enough, as did the faint lighting through the waterfall at our backs. 

I looked over the edge with the others. The blue-black water below glowed similarly every few feet downward, as if tiny crystals were embedded in the walls, spiraling to the bottom. If there were a bottom. 

“That water is hot,” Helion said, whispering to the group as we all huddled just before the thin bridge. 

I could see it now, the steam curling up in tendrils from the glassy surface. 

“We’re close,” Griffin said, his voice lowered as well. “Just over the bridge and we’re there.” 

The bridge, made from slated crystal panels, seemed to beckon us all. The Arch even more inviting. 

Helion and Griffin lead the way, with only room for one at a time on the bridge with how narrow it was. Nesta turned green, even in the bluish light. “I hate heights,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone in particular. 

“I’ll save you,” Cassian winked. Well, they must’ve had a nice day together. I’ll find out later. 

We were maybe 30 feet away from the Arch, and the end of the bridge. 

Although I didn’t particularly like heights either, flying had me accustomed to the feeling of free falling. 

But the water below was not inviting, the crystal panels so smooth they were slippery, even with my sure footing. 

Rhysand was right behind me, a hand on my shoulder. 

We were nearing the center now, almost halfway across. 

“Stop.” 

Rhysands warning was not whispered. 

And was not quick enough. 

The water beneath the bridge exploded, spraying upwards as something scaled thrashed through the glossed surface. 

A gaping maw shot straight for where we all stood, hung on the bridge for easy access.

And standing in the middle of the tiny bridge, there was nowhere to run.


End file.
